The Least of These

Have you ever looked at a small child passing you by and wondered about them? Who were they, and where did they live?  Are they happy, fed, warm, and clothed?

How about the homeless man on the corner? The one who reeks of alcohol, or maybe is even missing a limb or two from a wartime injury?

And what about the single mom? You know the one — she has way too many children and doesn't keep them very clean. What about her?

I think about these people all the time. Our pastor even preached about them this past Sunday. He taught on Matthew 25. It's one of my top favorite passages in the Bible. Why? Well, because I can relate to a few of the scenarios mentioned in that passage.  It was a difficult time in my life.  I was just old enough to be embarrassed, but too young to understand what exactly was going on. And without saying too much, without sharing things about my childhood that my parents might not appreciate me sharing--I'll just talk about how I felt, because I was one of those--the least of these.

I was afraid. I was a little under 8 years of age. I was hungry. Many nights. I'm deciding how much to share and what to say.  My Father had lost his job, and we had very little food, so we ate very little. My stomach would growl after I was tucked into bed. There wasn't much left in the cupboards. So I didn't complain. My parents were new Christians. We prayed. We prayed a lot. We needed God to meet our needs. We needed food. Every morning, my mom would make us oatmeal, and for lunch, she would pack us up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with some carrot sticks.  And for dinner we'd have spaghetti. This went on for a year or more. I know this is going to sound weird, but to this day, I cannot eat those foods. I can feel myself begin to gag, and it brings back some painful memories, so I avoid them.

I was also cold.  Thankfully, we lived in California, but believe me, it still would get down into the 30s at night in the winter.  One year, the electric company had cut off our heat, so we all huddled together in our tiny living room in front of the fireplace, trying to keep warm.  No electricity meant no lights, so my Father would fire up the camping lantern — that thing scared me. We were told not to get near it, because if we knocked it over, it could start a fire. I was convinced that someone was going to do just that, and I worried enough for our entire family. I had nightmares about our house catching fire for years after that.

And water? Well, that was turned off, too. No money to pay the bills. Our kind neighbor next door ran her garden hose through our kitchen window so that we could have running water. I was 6 years old that year, and was feeling my first tinges of humiliation. We were poor, dirt poor. We weren't homeless--yet. But almost. My parents had also lost their car. No heat, lights, water, car, or food--not quite homeless--yet.

So yes, when I read Matthew 25 or hear someone preach from that part of the Bible, my mind goes back in time to a place I'd rather forget.  I wonder if my parents even realize just how much I do remember. How do I tell them — I remember everything. I remember it all. From the fear to the hunger to the embarrassment. And yet, would I change it? Any of it? No, I would not.

To this very day, when I see the faces of people in pain, whether they are homeless, grieving, or physically disabled, my heart automatically goes out to them. I want to help in some small way. I wonder — what do they need? Food, water, warm clothing, a counselor, a friend, what? How can I help the way others helped me? I guess my past helped shape my future. It made me into who I am today. When I see a need, I try to fill it. I like to get involved. I like to help the way others helped me. I give, I counsel, I pray, I listen. I'm there. Just the way God was there for me when I was little. He used those around us to help meet our needs. A friend brought food over, a neighbor shared her water, another friend had a car, we made it, we survived. I want others to survive, too. I want to help in any way I can. I want to be a sheep--not a goat.

I am now reading a book called--The Hole in Our Gospel. It's breaking my heart all over again. It's making me cry. It's making me realize that what I went through as a child was nothing compared to what others went through. Nothing at all. Just a short memory. However, as an adult now, I can make a change. I can do something.
And I'm going to--for the least of these.

Matthew 25:31-46

The Message (MSG)

The Sheep and the Goats

^31-33 "When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him, and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

^34-36 "Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry, and you fed me,
I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me a room,
I was shivering, and you gave me clothes,
I was sick, and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison, and you came to me.'

^37-40 "Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

^41-43 "Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry, and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless, and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering, and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

⁴⁴ "Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'

⁴⁵ "He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'
⁴⁶ "Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."

Getting Ready

I'm having a complete adrenaline rush. It's been going on for about 2 days now, and relief won't come until the morning. That's OK with me, though. I love these traveling rushes that accompany my trips to the airport. That's right, I said airport. I am leaving in the morning! And while this flight isn't an overseas flight, it's a flight nonetheless. And I'm excited. I get to go to the airport. I get to fly on an airplane. I get to people-watch, browse expensive airport shops, and drink expensive airport cappuccinos.

I've barely slept the last 2 nights. Packing and unpacking in my head. Awake or asleep--it doesn't matter. I'm packing! I need clothing for daytime shopping and for evening dinners; I need shoes for walking and for looking fancy. And handbags--I need handbags. They are by far my most important items to pack. They are my ruination. My downfall. The one thing I feel most guilty about. However, I can honestly say they've all been gifts from my husband. There, I've just alleviated my guilt--a little bit.

So, in my hours of fitful sleep, I have repacked my one suitcase (yes, I said one, it's a short trip) several times. Along with clothing, shoes, and handbags, there is jewelry and cosmetics to consider — I just love my makeup!   Can you understand why I'm not sleeping well? No? Well, that's OK, I get it. I understand myself.

I also have our dog to kennel, our house to clean, neighbors to notify, boarding passes to print, and a refrigerator to clean out. I have this very weird thing I have to do before I can leave on any trip longer than 2 days. I have to clean my house--just in case I am killed along the way and someone comes into my home and says--wow, she was really a disorganized pig. I couldn't handle that, so I cleaned like a mad lady. Then there is the refrigerator situation. All food that might go bad must be thrown away, and the shelves wiped clean and straightened — for the same reason mentioned above. Can you say neurotic?

We leave tomorrow morning. As soon as I sit down on that plane, I know what's going to happen. I will be so exhausted that the hum of the engines warming will lull me to sleep, if even for just a few minutes. Then I will wake up, take out my Kindle, and relax. Until the next trip, and then the entire process will commence once again. And that's OK with me, I love to travel. Almost as much as I love getting ready.

Hard Stuff

I'm doing it again. My mind is traveling at the speed of light. I just happened to watch a video yesterday, and that's what started this ball a rollin'! The speaker was Priscilla Shirer. I've heard her before, and she touched my heart back then, too. However, I am in a different place now. Very different, so I need to share just where my head (and heart) is at.

As I've mentioned before, I moved away from family and friends 2 years ago. Previously, I moved 13 years ago —the same scenario. Just to be clear — I don't like moving. I don't like too much change. I love my family and friends. My closest friends are family, so that even makes moving doubly hard. But, with my husband's job comes change, moving, making new friends, and exploring new possibilities. That's what I tell myself anyway. New possibilities.

This last move--2 years ago--was by far the hardest move I've made thus far. I moved away from grandchildren. Not good. Not good at all. Who knew that those 5 little grandbabies would steal my heart so completely--that I would do anything to remain close to them. That wasn't going to be the case, though. God had other plans for my life. And since I had given my life over to him, well, I had to move and move readily, with a smile on my face and a willingness in my heart. OK, forget the smile and the heart bit. It was just plain horrible. I cried the whole 6-hour drive to my new little town. My husband is driving, I'm crying, and he feels like the biggest heel on earth.

I can honestly say that I wasn't mad at God. I was just sad. It was a lonely place to be in emotionally; it was hard. It was a bad time in my life. And while God wanted me to see the good stuff, Satan wanted me to only see the bad stuff.  I soon learned, though, that through those hard, lonely, sad, awful days--God was doing something.  He was setting me up. He had good stuff in store, a plan, and a future. I learned that if I just kept praying, he'd show me the good stuff, a little at a time. And so I did. I waited, I prayed, I anticipated, I cried (I do that a lot), and I wondered — is it time yet, God?  And when, oh when, will this pain of loneliness and sadness go away? Basically, I just wanted to go home. Home to my forever house, to my friends, to my kids and grandkids, to my old Bible study friends--home. Just let me go home. I would actually daydream about the day my husband walked into our house and said, "Guess what?"  We're going home! Only that never happened.

It's been 2 years. What's changed? Everything! When I was ready to throw in the towel, God was there. When I was lying in bed, crying my eyes out, God was there. I leaned in and pressed close because I had no one else. My husband was extremely busy with his new position at his company. I did not have even one friend to come alongside me. I had no one to talk to. No one. Only God.

It was during that lonely time that I began to write. I started this blog. It became my voice. My only mode of relating my emotions, my stories, and my experiences about my new life. And, out of this little blog, believe it or not, a ministry was born. Hmmm--out of pain, a birth.  Now, just where have I heard that before?

I look at things much differently now. I am happy. I am no longer lonely. We have settled in, and I know that I am right where God intended me to be. He didn't make a mistake. He didn't send me out here to punish me. He had a plan. A plan that revolves around him and not me. A plan to use my college degree, and a plan to use this blog to minister to others. A plan for me to make some fantastic lifelong friends. Yes, he had a plan all along. I am content. I am fully engaged in what God is doing in my life. Was it hard? Extremely.  Was I sad? Yep. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I love my life; it is sweet, and it belongs to my father, who will never ever leave me or forsake me. I am more than willing to walk this road, this path, this plan, as long as I am walking it with him.

Even in the hard times, I will serve you, oh my God.
I will praise you even when I cannot lift my head.
I will sing to you even when it is only a whisper.
I will open up my eyes to all you have for me to see.
I will trust you, and seek you, and remember all you've done for me.
I will shout your name from the depths of my heart.
For you, oh God, are mine.

Brave

We have finished with the Bible study on the book Brave. Remember? I was going to let you know how I did. How it affected me. How it changed me. Did you know? But, not in the way I expected it to. How often, though, do things happen the way we think they should? And, how often are we even able to see ourselves the way God does?

So I went for several weeks, reading, writing, studying, and wondering — just how does this affect me? I wasn't feeling a connection to this particular book. I was OK with that, though. I was enjoying meeting a lot of the women who attend my new church. I was making friends. And frankly, that was good enough for me. I was enjoying myself.

That wasn't really good enough for God, though. I should have seen it coming. Maybe I'm a little slow. He had plans. I wasn't going to be let off that easily. It wasn't until the very last chapter of the book--that's when God began to show me some things about myself. Things that I don't really like to think about--things from my past.

The last chapter of our book on being Brave was on brokenness. I thought to myself--I'm not broken. I'm not. That's what I kept saying to God. I'm not broken. Yes, it's very true that I am tender-hearted, that I cry easily, that I can empathize with the best of them--but broken? No. Not me. I was not broken. However, very gently (as He always does), God took me down a road--the road of my childhood.

I was right, you know. I am not broken as an adult. I was, however, broken as a child. I didn't even think about that aspect of brokenness. My heart as a child had been broken, and through that brokenness, God has been able to use me to help others. I realized, via a scripture we read today, that I have been healed. My broken childhood is gone; it no longer exists. At least that's what I thought--until today. He showed me that even though He has healed me from the brokenness of my childhood, I still bear scars. And through those scars, I can walk alongside others who are hurting. I feel their pain, I cry with them. And I thought all along that I had chosen Psychology on my own...little did I realize--God had a plan.

In the book of Ruth, chapter 2, verse 10, Ruth says to Boaz--¹⁰ At this, she bowed down with her face to the ground. She asked him, "Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?"

And that's when it hit me. I had found favor in God's eyes. He noticed me as a broken little child. He reached down, scooped me up, and healed me. He came after me. He found me. He is truly my redeemer. That is why, as an adult, I did not identify with this last chapter in our Bible study book on brokenness. I am no longer broken. A few cracks? Yes. But broken no. I have been redeemed, I am broken no more. However, I am a crybaby, an empathizer, a counselor, a friend; I feel things deeply, and I now know that I am those things because of what God has done in my heart. I identify with His children, his broken children. That's what I cry about,  I cry for the people whom God loves, I cry for the broken-hearted, I cry for what He cries for. Why? Because I've been there.

I'll write about that broken childhood one day. And when I do, I'll share it all. It will have to be in God's perfect timing, though. Just as He heals me layer by layer, piece by piece, bit by bit, I will share my life through these pages. A little at a time. And, He'll be with me as I write, so I won't be afraid--I'll be brave.

School Bus

He saw it before we did. I heard him calling out over and over again-"school bus, school bus"-while pointing off in the distance. My daughter-in-law assured me — there has to be one nearby. We were shopping. Of course. When grandma visits, we shop. I love buying my grandchildren new little toys, cute clothing, or even something for a new hobby. They know that when I come--it's gift time. Always.  Even if it's just something small, I just have to leave them with a present or two.

So there we were at the mall when my 20-month-old grandson saw it — the school bus. We searched high and low, and finally, there it was, low, very low. Within his stroller's line of sight was the school bus. It sat on a lower shelf. I bent down and picked it up. Carved wood, carved little people, and expensive-looking. Who cares, though, right? Grandma's here! At least that's what I imagine him to be thinking. Grandma's here, she'll buy it for me. And how do I know this? Because she loves me, that's how. Grandma loves me.

And, without even looking at the price, I took it up to the counter and bought said school bus. His little arms reaching for it--school bus, school bus! He wanted it now. I gave him his new school bus, and away we went. He carried it all the way to the restaurant, where we tried to get him to eat. But no, the minute I unwrapped his school bus, he never let go. His little hands were moving the wooden people in and out of the bus. His face was concentrating on opening and closing the wooden door and the stop sign. Take time to eat? No way! His job for the next hour was to figure out where to place his little wooden people in his new little wooden school bus.

That gift was a hit, a huge hit. As I pushed him in his stroller through the mall after lunch, every so often he'd look back at me and smile, and he'd yell out, " School bus, Grandma! "  That little smile, that grin of pure joy, is what grandmothers live for. That look of gratitude and thankfulness, that look of love, really — it just steals my heart.

I love my 5 grandchildren. I'd do anything for them. I'd buy them the moon if they wanted it. Their little arms wrapped around my neck, the smiles while playing, the watching movies and eating popcorn together, those are grandma times. Important times. Memory times. Precious times.

I can still hear him, you know--school bus grandma, school bus. And my heart smiles.

Carry Me

Sometimes I just need you to carry me.
To pick me up, put me on your shoulders, and carry me.
When I can't walk, when I can't talk, when I can't breathe, just carry me.
You have done it before. You have said you'll come after me.
You will leave the others and come find me when I'm lost.
When I'm all alone, when I'm afraid, you will come.

That is who you are to me, the one who comes after me.
The one who comforts me, the one who hears me when I cry.
The one who never lets me out of your sight,
not even for a second.
You are always there, your eyes on me.
Always watching, always protecting.

I sometimes think about those times when
I have chased you away or run from you.
Those times when I've screamed and yelled
when things didn't go my way.
And yet, there you were, arms held open
ready for me to run back to you.

That is what love is to me.
What you have shown me, what
You have done for me.
That you came for me, even when I ran,
you brought me home and held me closely.
I heard your heartbeat, and you heard mine.

A true father's heart, it's what I live for.
It's what keeps me going. This knowing.
So please carry me, don't give up on me.
As I try so hard to please you, to serve you,
to learn from you, to praise you, to worship you.
A daughter's heart that needs to be carried by you.

Cute Jeans

It's funny what you notice about a person. For me, it's usually something a person (especially if it's a woman) is wearing—their hair, shoes, or earrings. I know that I sound shallow. And that's not really what I'm getting at here. What I'm trying to say is that I notice people. I tend to gravitate towards certain types. You know, the folks that I might have something in common with. It really doesn't matter what, specifically, I notice. It's just that something will catch my eye and then--well then, it's usually because God has put them in my line of sight for a reason. Such is the case of what happened the other day.

We happened to be attending the same seminar when I looked over and noticed her jeans at the registration desk. They were so cute, I loved them and wondered where she had bought them. As we all moved into the large classroom to begin our lecture time, I looked over to see her at the table right next to mine. Coincidence? I think not! And when we both happened to get up and go to get coffee at the same time, I thought I'd compliment her on her awesome jeans. Well, we had an instant connection. It seems we both love fashion and love to shop. I then told her about a couple of cute little boutiques I had found during my many shopping trips and wrote the addresses on a piece of paper for her. We were both happy to have found each other. New friends via cute jeans.

Just a few short hours later, we were put together again and ended up finding out even more about each other. It's a miraculous thing to witness God bringing two new friends together. We prayed for each other, talked for a while, and exchanged business cards. A new friendship was made that day--all because of a pair of cute jeans. Maybe I'm the only one fascinated by the simple workings of God. I don't know. Maybe God was once again trying to show me His sovereignty. I'm not sure. He got my attention, though. He made me stop, take notice, and watch Him working around me. He made me wonder why He cares so much about all of us that He would arrange a silly little chance meeting between 2 women who otherwise never would have met. And yet, we did. Over jeans. Awesome.

Yes, we live in different towns, we go to different churches, we come from different cultures, and yet God saw a need. God saw a reason why the two of us should meet. I marvel sometimes (OK, all the time) over the workings of the mighty God whom I serve. He cares that much. He meets us just where we are. He finds the perfect person to bring into our lives on a perfect day. All we have to do is be aware, keep our eyes open, and our hearts ready. He's got a plan. And I just happened to walk right into it that day.

I realize that I might not ever see her again. I know that sometimes God brings people into our lives for just a few short minutes or even a few short hours. Sometimes He brings them into our lives for a season, and sometimes for a lifetime. Either way--I'm ready. I'm ready to be used, to pray, to serve, and to live for Him. I am also happy that He uses simple things to get my attention — cute jeans; that's all it took. Wow, I am a little shallow now that I think about it. :)

Fearless

I've decided to share something. I am being completely vulnerable; I am leaving myself open to criticism. So I guess in a sense, I am afraid. No. I am not afraid, that's why I'm sharing. I'll need to remind myself of that later.

I've been told that I am brave, that I have a certain confidence, and that I am a fearless person — to some extent. However, please understand that what I share with you does not mean that I live a life empty of fear. I do not. I just chose to live my life fearlessly, based on something that I experienced years ago.

I was (please note the "was") afraid of the dark--as a child and as an adult. I was married, with children, and approaching my 30s when my fear of darkness came to an ugly head. My husband's job was demanding more and more travel, which meant nights away — and believe me when I tell you, that meant nights of no sleep for me. The dark circles under my eyes should have given this phobia away; however, I hid my fear well. Not from my husband, of course, he found out early on about my fears. They pretty much consumed me. I am very thankful that he did not ridicule me — instead, if I needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, he would get up and turn the light on for me. I was afraid of the dark. Never could a room be completely without light; there always had to be a small crack left to illuminate the darkness that surrounded me at night. When darkness fell, my terror came alive. I do not know why. I have no answer. It just happened, and it had been happening since I was a small child. It might have come from a movie or television show. My guess is as good as yours.  I do know, though, that it was real and it was terrifying, and it was taking over my life--this horrible fear of the dark.

At that time, I was attending a women's Bible study at my church. As I sat there week after week, being taught about God answering prayers, about healing, and about miracles, etc., I began to wonder — would He answer my prayer? Would He deliver me from this horrible fear of mine? Would he even care enough--after all, who was I to even ask?  One day, those questions were fiercely bubbling up inside of me, and as we were asked if we had any prayer needs before I could grab my hand back down, it shot up into the air, and I blurted out--Please pray for me!  I began to sob as I told them about my fear of the dark. I was mortified that I had just shared my darkest secret. My shame.  After all, I was a Christian, wasn't I? Where was my faith? Where was my trust in God? I just knew they were judging me.

As I sat there crying, though, I looked up and noticed that the entire room of women had surrounded me. Somewhere between 30 and 40 pairs of loving arms and sympathetic eyes were kneeling before me, ready to pray. I have never felt so much love, kindness, and understanding in my life--not before nor since. I cried, they prayed, and we stayed that way for a very long time. Those are my real friends. Those who prayed with me and stayed until the job was done. They didn't need to say one word, they didn't need to placate me with verses from the Bible, they didn't need to share their own fears that day--no, all they needed to do was pray for me and show me with their kind actions that they were standing with me in the midst of my fears.

I went home that day feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but I can't lie. I wondered what nightfall would bring. My husband was on a business trip once again. So, that night I opened my Bible to the book of Psalms chapter 91, and I read it and then laid it open on my nightstand--

Psalm 91

¹ Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.^[a]
2 I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
    My God, in whom I trust."

³ Surely he will save you
    from the Fowler’s snare
    and from the deadly pestilence.
⁴ He will cover you with his feathers,
    and under his wings you will find refuge;
    His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
⁵ You will not fear the terror of night,
    nor the arrow that flies by day,
⁶ nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
    Nor the plague that destroys at midday.
⁷ A thousand may fall at your side,
    ten thousand at your right hand,
    But it will not come near you.
⁸ You will only observe with your eyes
    and see the punishment of the wicked.

⁹ If you say, "The Lord is my refuge,"
    and you make the Most High your dwelling,
¹⁰ No harm will overtake you,
    No disaster will come near your tent.
¹¹ For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways;
¹² they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
¹³ You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
    You will trample the great lion and the serpent.

¹⁴ "Because he^[b] loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him;
    I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
¹⁵ He will call on me, and I will answer him;
    I will be with him in trouble,
    I will deliver him and honor him.
¹⁶ With long life, I will satisfy him
    and show him my salvation."

When I woke up the next morning, I realized I had slept through the night. No fear--fearless.
God had heard my cry, God had answered my prayer, and God had given me the most peaceful night's sleep that I had ever had. I cried. I really did. I felt so loved in that moment. I wondered — had I really been healed? Yes, yes, I had. No more sleepless nights. No more fear of the dark. It was gone.

Why share this? Because I believe that when God does something miraculous in our lives, we need to share it. We need to let others know. I learned something that day — we all have fears. And, there is not a thing we can do about it in and of ourselves. However, I serve an almighty God--who can do anything!

Fearless? Now I am! I can sleep in the pitch dark, I can walk through a dark house, I can go to the bathroom alone by myself--without the light on, I can stay home alone at night without giving it a second thought.

And if you don't think that's a miracle--then I don't know what one is! I am one very thankful, fearless child of God. I am absolutely convinced that God allowed what I went through to happen to me for a reason. Nothing could make me think otherwise. There is nothing He can't do. I know--I've asked.

Colors of Friendship

The view outside my bedroom window is one of yellow leaves, not quite yet gold, but soon. I love fall colors, every single one of them, every color, every hue. Fall is my favorite time of year; I love it even more than I love Winter.  I believe that once God decided to give us eyesight, he also gave us color through flowers, trees, birds, and other beautiful gifts made only by him. I've heard it called God's paintbrush--I like that. Vivid and soft at the same time.

So, I sit in my room looking at the wonderful colors of my creator, and I daydream. I think about family and friends, blessings and gifts, and I become even more grateful with each passing moment. I am thankful for one thing in particular right now. Friendship. It means so much to me. To have a friend whom I can express my deepest thoughts, emotions, and dreams with--well, what can be better than that?

One of my closest friends just left. I gave her a ride to the airport yesterday and had to fight back tears as I drove back home. I looked at the beautiful scenery along the highway and streets leading back to my house, and I thought--I shall always remember this visit--a visit with a good friend in the fall, she shall always be "painted" in my mind with yellows, oranges, and reds--the colors of autumn. I then thought about the other visitors I've had — what colors are they? And much to my surprise — yes, they had colors too. Sometimes the color of Winter--fluffy snow and glittery frost, and sometimes the color of summer--the blues of water and white puffy clouds.

I am beginning to think I've lost it a little bit here, but really, it's how I remember each and every visit. With colors associated with seasons.   And with friends associated with colors. I deeply love my friends--my true friends, those whom I can trust, depend on, lean on, share with, and pray with. Why I have been so blessed is a mystery to me; however, I will not question God, I will just bask in the colors of friendship and enjoy my view.

Happy Birthday To Me

Today is my birthday. Some might be bothered by the giant number that I have now reached, not me, though. I like getting older. I feel wise, experienced, well-traveled, and loved. Very loved. And so, for this — I feel grateful.

I am thankful for so many things in this sweet life of mine — parents and siblings, children and grandchildren, extended family and friends who are just like family. I am thankful for the many ways in which God has blessed me, too. Material blessings abound in my life. I am very aware of my abundance in this area, and I never take it for granted.

Yes, having a birthday is a great time to sit and reflect. I woke up before the sun this morning with a prayer in my heart.  I lay in bed for a while just thanking God over and over for the way He has always been my real father.  I prayed for a long time with a very grateful heart, then finally got up and moved into the family room, where I could sit in my old brown leather rocking chair, coffee and laptop in hand — I needed to write.

I was just thinking back to all the wonderful gifts I've received over the years, and, in all honesty, my best gift came when I was just 17 years old. It wasn't wrapped, didn't have a bow, but when I looked at it, I knew. Yes, it was going to be the one gift that I'd never return. The one gift that I would always hope to have and to keep for all of my days. My husband. He has made me feel so special and confident, so beautiful inside and out, so smart and worth something. He has been my one constant. What a gift God brought me that year! And, every year after that, my life just got better and better, sweeter and sweeter.

Grateful? Thankful? Yes, because every day feels like a birthday to me.

Blog-Jacked Birthday

No, this is not a posting from Veda - but a blog jacking by her most ardent admirer...

Happy Birthday to my awesome wife. As the saying goes, "behind every good man is a better woman," and that holds true for me.  I do not know how my life would have turned out without her- the joy, strength, and beauty she brings to our relationship is such a gift.

Babe,  I hope you know how blessed I am to be your husband and partner in life. Love Jerry

PS...  probably a good time to change your password :-)

Yesterday's Musings

I had an interesting day yesterday. I started 2 new things: a ladies' Bible study and our couples' small group, which is also a Bible study.  Both are affiliated with our new church. I have been either leading or attending these types of get-togethers for approximately 40 years now. One might think I'd be burned out or tired, or maybe even have a " I've heard it all before type of attitude, but I don't. I thoroughly enjoy getting together with other believers and discussing Biblical truths. I like being challenged, I like debates, and I like sharing my heart and listening to others' heartbeats.  It's always been a huge part of my life--this getting together with like-minded people.

This will be my first time attending the ladies' Bible study at my new church. I'm excited to get to know these new people. We've been at this church for a few months now, so I believe it will be a great venue for making new friends. We start with coffee (thank you, God), some visiting, and then a video. We then break up into small groups to discuss the workbook and video. This is where things usually get interesting. As someone trained in Psychology, I am always fascinated by others' behavioral patterns. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not there for a special group session, I am there to listen and learn. I also struggle with another issue, I am a pray-er, you know, a person who prays for others almost non-stop. As I listen to people share, I make mental notes on what I believe their needs are, and then I begin to pray for them. It's just what I do and who I am. I can't help myself. Believe me, I've tried. But that's another story, a later blog, and before I write about it, I'd have to pray. Do you see what I'm dealing with here? A never-ending circle of listen, pray, pray, listen...

Back to this new Bible study — our book is about being Brave. I think that is a very interesting concept. Bravery. Honestly, I had never thought of myself as being particularly brave, after looking at the chapter titles in our new book--well, maybe I am braver than I thought. Why? Because I did not feel that the titles really applied to me. I've made that mistake before, though, and have been completely taken aback by what God taught me.  So I've learned to be open-minded, teachable, and patient.  I know that over the next few months, God will change me. He'll work on some issues in my heart that I am not even aware of. I am excited about what He is going to be doing in me (and for me) over the next few months. And where I thought I was brave or not so brave--He will show me things about myself that will undoubtedly end up in this blog.

As for our couples' Bible study that meets in the evenings once a week — well, that's going to be interesting too.  We've decided to go through a book, chapter by chapter, and discuss a very interesting and somewhat controversial subject — why aren't our young adults attending church? I am praying through this study that our eyes are opened to the challenges of the church body today. There has definitely been a decline in attendance--but why? I have my viewpoint and thoughts on the matter; however, I may be mistaken. So, that's what we'll be talking and praying about.

On that subject, though, I think I do want to share a couple of my own thoughts here. I want to assess whether I'm close to the real reasons why our 20 and 30-somethings aren't interested in going to church.

For one thing, I wonder if the church (in general) is keeping up culturally with the times. Are our worship songs outdated and lifeless?   Is there joy, a sense of celebration, a feeling of I'm so excited to be in church, an exuberant type of singing? Or instead, are we standing on tradition — singing funeral songs? That's what I call them. Old, tired, boring, sleepy hymns. I'm sorry, I'm just being as honest as I can be. And I'm trying to figure things out. I'm trying to see church through the eyes of the visitor, the unchurched, the unbeliever--and I'm not really liking what I'm seeing. Let's make the church feel like a place we want to go! Full of life, full of God, full of Jesus! Let's worship as if we are already in heaven!

For another thing, I think that God has taken a backseat in their lives.  No longer are they living for Him; they want what He offers, but only on their terms.  They are too busy and too worn out to make time for God. It's a gimme, gimme society---that's for sure.

Also, (and I am aware that I might again be stepping on some toes here), I believe that there are some people (OK, a lot) who feel that churches today are filled with hypocrites. The so-called Christians of today are full of hate and discrimination, and so they want to distance themselves from that type of church-going Christian. And I wonder--are they right? Is this what the world sees? Is this what we are portraying? Aren't they seeing Jesus in us? Or, are they seeing mean-spirited, judgmental, unforgiving, unaccepting, intolerant people--who just claim to know Christ?  

We will see if I am even close to the real reasons as to why we are losing young families. In the meantime, I will be praying.

So, these are my musings from yesterday--much to think about and much more to pray about. Am I brave? I don't know. And why aren't more young adults attending church? I don't know. Maybe over the next few weeks, I'll receive some insight and answers to my questions.  I sure hope so. I have a lot of questions, a lot to pray about, and a lot to learn. So, let the fun and the hard work begin!

Genetics

I needed to wait a while before writing this blog. I needed a few days. Sometimes, that's what I needed--time. Why? Because last week was the anniversary of the death of one of my nephews, and it was also the birthday of another nephew (his older brother), who passed away a mere 10 months later.  I guarantee you that these last few days have been extremely hard on my family and have been stirring up some deep emotions. So, I waited a bit before sharing this.

It was better for me also--to wait, to ponder, to decide--should I tell them? Should I really write about what I saw? I've decided to do it. To tell them. If it were me, I'd want to know.

It happened innocently enough this way. We were at my oldest son's house for a cookout (that's what they call it in the Midwest).  My little grandchildren were busy playing with trains, trucks, and dolls. I looked over and noticed the way one of my grandsons was sitting. Not cross-legged, not legs straight out in front of him--no, he had them folded behind him with his little feet pointed out, not in nor sitting with his little bum on top of his feet, no, they were pointed out, like little wings--just like my nephew used to sit. It caught my eye, and as I processed the memory, I noticed something else — he had my nephew's feet.   A huge lump formed in my throat. I kept staring at his little body, watching him play with his cars and trucks, and I began to see other similarities.  His side profile, for example, and even his cute little smile.  I sat very still, studying him. And in him, I saw remnants of my nephew. Genetics.

I wish my sister had been there right at that very moment. I wish she could have seen the way God had used genetics to keep her son alive. Alive not just in our memories or using pictures, but in using those genes that are passed along from generation to generation.  In my grandson, I saw my nephew. I've seen genetic effluences before in other family members. For example, my cousin's son looks like my sister. And speaking of my sister, she has my grandmother's walk and body type. I've been told numerous times that my youngest granddaughter looks just like me and that I look just like my grandmother. Genetics.

It's alway been easy for me to see similarities between my own children and my husband and I. Our daughter has my face, but her father's hands and feet. Our oldest son has my looks with his father's height, and our youngest son is a carbon copy of his father, right down to his body gestures. I not only notice their looks but also their likes and dislikes — they are fashioned much like us. It's interesting to me. More importantly, though, I notice their hearts — they are like ours, too. And that makes me happy.

When I was studying Psychology in college, we talked a lot about nature vs nurture. I've always hung in the middle. I personally believed it was pretty much a 50/50 thing. However, I'm not so sure now.  Maybe it's much more natural than I had ever realized. Don't misunderstand, I still believe strongly in the nurture part, very strongly. However, that nature thing, that genetic factor, that generational gene pool, well, that's got me wondering--just how much of me is purely genetics?  

In the meantime, as I ponder genetics, nature vs nurture, and generational heritage, I will be watching. I am curious — how far will the similarities stretch? Will I still be able to look at my little grandson as he grows up and continue to see my nephew? I hope so. I miss him. Just to be able to look into the faces of my children and grandchildren and see my family members, my ancestors of old, and my heritage being carried on through history--well, that would just be awesome.

Family Lifestyles

We've just returned home from a week's vacation visiting our children. We crossed 5 states to see everyone. We saw 6 adults, 5 children, 4 dogs, and 2 cats. We stayed in 2 homes over 7 nights. In a word? Exhausted. And yet...fulfilled.

Being the analytical sort that I am, I noticed a few things during our travels. One thing that struck me was, first, the different stages my children were living in, and second, the actual way they live. Their styles are completely different from ours and from each other. Yes, different from each other and different from me. They have become their own--in lifestyle, in habits, in just plain living. Interesting, since I (or we) raised all 3 of them. However, once they married and moved into their own homes, they made their own lives with their mates. Their homes, their lives, their way of doing, living, and being.

Oh wow, what a great time this observer had — analyzing, watching, wondering, pondering — my mind, eyes, and ears were aswirl.

As we started our vacation and visited the first house, we had a 1-child, 1-dog home. I would describe this home as small, quiet, and a thinker's home. One where television is an afterthought and books are in the forefront.  I can see that creativity abounds, and crafts, along with cooking, are the norm.  It's easy with one child, especially a docile one. One who still takes naps, who plays quietly by himself, and who is content with his little life as he knows it. This is the life my youngest son has lived thus far. I'm sure it will change over the years, as they add to their family. The more the merrier, as far as I am concerned--I am looking forward to seeing the development of life changes.

And then there is the home with 2 children under 4 and 1 dog. This home is organized; it functions best this way.  Since there are 2 children, there must be control. A large TV is a must to get things done. There is the little girl who needs to be challenged with crafty ideas, and there is the little one who climbs--everything. There is constant movement in this home, from the minute they wake until bedtime. Questions, talking, cartoons, and playtime are the norm in this home. And this is the life of my oldest son. They do not plan on any additions, so I will be content to watch these 2 grandchildren of mine grow and change, and I will enjoy it to the fullest.

And then there is the home of 2 school-age children, along with 2 large dogs and 2 cats. This home is large and noisy.  It is never really still or quiet until the lights go out at night. It's all about school here — with bulletin boards and schedules. Big backyards, swing-sets, friends over, and snack time are important here. I think of it as organized chaos. Lots of commotion and motion — it makes this home feel alive. Dogs barking, beds to make, chores to be done, dinners to plan. Structure and order are paramount here to ensure it can be run in a timely fashion. This is the home of my oldest, my daughter. Watching these 2 grandchildren reminds me of how fast time goes by. I do not want them to grow up.

And then there is the home of the 2 grandparents, who have 1 dog and live a very quiet life. Oh who am I kidding, we don't live a quiet life! Even our dog is loud. No, we are (as described by the neighbors) the instigators. We have 3 TVs to which I am completely addicted. We are constantly on the go; we love to walk, eat out, have friends over, go for coffee, go to church (and all related activities). Yes, we are always on the go! Our home? It is always picked up, no toys or loads of laundry. There is always time to read, or clean, or relax. Our dog is well-trained, our (or my) schedules are flexible, and our lives are our own. Still, though, it is a quiet home. That's why sometimes, I have to make it not quiet. I miss the chaos of my children living with me. I miss the mess. I really do.

Yes, we live in a different time of life than our children do. We've been where they've been, lived where they've lived, experienced what they have. Stress, children, money issues, pets--we get it. Really, we do. And when we smile and nod, we aren't really laughing at them--we're laughing with them. We understand the stress; however, we also understand that it all passes so quickly. Children move on to the next stage of life the minute they figure out the one they're in.

Time jumps, it doesn't crawl. This is what I learned this past vacation. To capture it all, I have to jump right along with it. I have to keep up! I have to take as many mental pictures as I can. And so, I analyze, I watch, I observe, I appreciate, I value, I learn, I grow, I marvel at my children. They are all different. All special. All precious. All mine. And I love them. Thank you for letting me continue to be your mom, and for bringing joy to my heart through your lives and those of your families.

Our family lifestyles — all the same, yet all different.

My Forever House

I still miss her. And every now and then, I will get hit with waves of sadness and nostalgia. I can feel those emotions wash over me at a moment's notice. I'll get that prickly feeling in the back of my eyes. My throat will constrict, and it's all I can do to keep it together. Sometimes, though, if I am home alone, I will let the tears flow. I think I need that release. I know that some might think I'm being a bit melodramatic when I talk about or think about her. I know that. They just don't know me very well, then. They don't know how much I loved her and how I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd get to keep her. That maybe, just maybe, she'd be my forever house.

It's really hard to explain the love I felt for that old house of mine. She was a 1928 Tudor. Nothing fancy. However, to me, she was glorious. She was 3 stories tall, with leaded-glass windows that ran along the staircase.  A huge picture window in the living room and a screened-in sunroom that flowed off the dining room through double French doors.  Both rooms--the living room and the sunroom-- were my favorite spots in the house. In the winter, I loved to cozy up on the sofa in front of the big marble fireplace and read.  And for the other 3 seasons, I pretty much did the same thing on my little sun porch.  Quiet, cozy, tranquil, peaceful--these are the words I use to describe how I felt while living there.

Let me back up, though. Why, oh why was that house in particular so important to me? What drew me to her in the first place? I ask these questions of myself because something (or someone) drew me to that house. I am convinced of that.

When I first began to look for our future home in Ohio, I was amazed by the charming neighborhoods. I found that Ohio is a very beautiful state. And the little town that we decided to buy in was (in my opinion) one of the prettiest. It was full of turn-of-the-century homes. We flew in from California with 1 weekend to find a house. Our poor realtor had her work cut out for her--that's for sure. I am the type to hit the ground running--morning to night, I was willing to search until I found just the right place to bring my family home. After looking at Dutch Colonials, Tudors, Normandys, and various other styles of homes, we pulled into her driveway. I knew the minute I saw her that I had found my new home. I didn't even have to go inside to look around to know that she was the one. She was perfect before I even walked through the front door. I had found my new home.

I think what I was looking for, without even realizing it, was a forever home. A home where my children could come back to and bring their families after they married. They could bring their children — my grandchildren — to visit.  It was to become Grandma's house.  Yes, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind, I'm sure that that is what I was planning all along. I wanted a big old comfy, warm, inviting house where kids and grandkids could come and visit. Where grandma could sit and rock her grandbabies. Where she could sit on her sun porch and read stories to her grandchildren. Where grandpa could teach the little ones how to ride a bike, identify different birds, or identify little critters.  Yes, it was in my mind to be my forever house. My grandma's house. With its old kitchen, creaky floors, and steam heat, it grabbed my heart like no other house had ever done before.

Living there gave me a sense of restfulness. It was a home that hugged you when you walked in the front door. There was no negotiating when we bought that house. We offered them full price — it was that important to me. She was to become a part of my dream life in Ohio. And for 11 years and 9 months, I lived that dream. While living there, all of my children married, 3 grandchildren were born, and yes, grandma lived the grandma dream. For a while, anyway.

It was a beautiful time of life for me in that big old house, with our children visiting, grandkids playing, holiday memories, and absolute fun. And then the day came that we had to move. My husband received a job offer in another state, and we had to put our dream home up for sale. I'm going to be extremely honest here--I wasn't a happy camper. No, not at all. I couldn't understand why God (yes, I blamed Him) would shatter the dream. My dream. Why would He make me move away from my forever house and my family? Why would He want me to be so sad and depressed? Why? And why did it feel as though I was losing a huge part of myself by leaving that house? I wondered — was I being punished?

I wish I could sit here and tell you that I have all the answers, but I don't. Not a one. Am I happy in my new home? Yes. I am. Is it anything like what I gave up? No, it is not. Would I go back? Yes, I would. Yes, it's true, my heart is full of contradictions. Yes, no, maybe so. Do I sound a little confused? You should try living in my head! Seriously, though — it's now been 2 years. I am happy, I love my new neighborhood, church, friends, town, and yes, I even really like my new house. It is not a stately old Tudor, but it is nice. There is also plenty of room for family and friends to visit. There is so much to do here, and we do have lots of fun. I am content.

So, what have I learned in all this? I've learned not to become so attached to material things — like houses. I've learned that I most likely became overly attached to that old Tudor because it was the house I had lived in the longest in my life. 11 years, 9 months--without having to pull up roots and move like I did every 6 months or so as a child. I've learned that people and memories are what should be important, not places (homes) or things. Yes, I've learned a lot, and I have to believe that living in that old Tudor had something to do with several of my life lessons. I am thankful for that. I love learning, growing, and maturing. I'm still in that mode and most likely will be until the day I leave this earth. I'm hoping that I learn more quickly, though. I'm hoping that I am developing positively through these trials (no matter how small) of life.

It is so important that I share these frailties of mine. This side of me that says--I don't have it all together, I don't have all the answers, and I'm not always happy with what is thrown in my direction. However, through it all--isn't my goal, isn't my heart, isn't my life--a life that belongs to Christ? A sweet life serving a sweet Lord.   I kinda wish it could have been in that old Tudor, but hey, who's complaining?  

My Forever House

Warm and cozy living room

Words of Affirmation

The usage of words is interesting to me. There are all types of ways to use them. They can be used to abuse, manipulate, or denigrate, or to uplift and affirm. It's the latter that has my attention today. I want to share something rather exciting (at least to me) that has happened. Another affirmation, another feel good moment, another woohoo. Me? Really? My insecurities have surfaced once again. However, I am still going to write about what has happened. I need to, I really do.

I received an email the other day from someone who puts on art shows across the country, showcasing new artists, photographers, and musicians. She asked me if I would like to display my photos at her show in Chicago. I would be one of 20 photographers. Stunned--that is the word that popped into my head. Me? Why me? I am not a professional. Not at all. I just like to take pictures — just landscape photos of places that touch my heart. Memory pictures. So, why ask me to participate?

Actually, I had just set up an Etsy shop the week before. It's called (of course) LaDolceVeda. I am selling some of my best photos and vintage keepsakes I found on my travels.
And that's how she found me. She liked my pictures! Little ol' me was being asked to an art show — to show and sell my photos — to real, live people! Still shocked!

After much prayer, Google searching, and talking things through with my husband, I decided that I wasn't going to participate in her show at this time. You see, I'm too much of a newbie, and I need more time to get my act together. I plan to have a few of my photos put on canvas and mat a few in different sizes. And maybe, just maybe, I will sell a few through my Etsy shop first. Then, when another offer comes along, I just might take it. In the meantime, I will bask in the joy of just being asked.

Just thinking about that offer has brought me so much positive feedback that it has bolstered my confidence, and I think I needed that, much like the local newspaper article that helped me when they did a feature on my blog. I was surprised then, too!  And I also placed #16 in a CBS Chicago blogger contest — one I didn't even enter!

So, good things are happening to me. Small things, but they affirm me. I can't help but think that God has a plan for me in this new area of my life. It's a creative aspect of myself that I hadn't explored until a couple of years ago. Starting with writing this blog. Who would have thought?

It's interesting to me how much these words of affirmation keep me going. The praise from a friend, the compliment on a photo, the written article, the invitation to showcase my pictures, the winning of a contest--they are all words of affirmation.  I never thought of myself as really needing them before — I always thought I was a pretty tough cookie; however, as I get older, I find that I need those kind words a little more.

I'm guessing others do too. So, in the future, I'm going to be looking for things — things I can say or do to affirm my family, friends, and neighbors. No, not fake words, but real words. Healing, soothing words of kindness. Words of affirmation.

Katie Girl

I fell in love with her when I was around 5 or 6 years old. I remember watching my TV, and there she was. The most beautiful, magnificent dog I had ever seen. I used to dream about her. About one day, having a dog just like her. Lassie. She was all I had ever wanted as a kid. She, in a word, was spectacular.

Ever since I can remember, I've always lived with a dog. On and off, my parents usually had a family dog. However, the day finally came when I wanted to get my very own dog — I was in junior high school, barely a teenager, when my folks finally caved and said I could have him. He is a massive collie that needs a good home. Well, what home could be better than mine? I really had to do a hard sell on my dad, though. The last dog that my mom had talked him into had a pretty bad attitude and would bite us kids, so he wasn't too keen on owning another. It would be my dog, though--I begged. I promised wholeheartedly to take care of him--all of him, the walking, the feeding, the brushing--everything. And I did too. He was mine, all mine. I loved that big ol' collie and cried like a baby when his arthritis got the best of him, and we had to have him put down. I was a newlywed by that time, and I think I really scared my new husband. I was that much of a mess over the loss of my dog. Little did he know what the future held for him.

Over the years, I've had many more dogs--collies, golden retrievers, a few short-term rescue dogs, and then... one Mother's Day, my little family took me someplace top secret, very hush-hush--they were super excited, which added to the fun.  It was a surprise. A secret. A special gift just for me. You see, I've always been enamored by a certain breed.  I'd never owned one, though, and after losing our beautiful golden retriever to cancer, my husband thought it just might be the time to surprise me with the breed of my dreams.  A little shetland sheepdog--a sheltie--the breed that some call miniature collies--although they are their very own breed.  Just the thought of something so Lassie-like in an itty-bitty form, well, that sounded so intriguing to me.

Excitedly, we pulled up to the breeder's place, and oh my goodness. There were 5 little bundles of fur rolling all around in the grass, and I was supposed to pick one--just one! I played with them and snuggled with them, but all the while I had my eye on the one who was off by herself in a little corner. Detached, aloof, she was uninterested in me, and her litter mates--that's for sure. So, I walked over and picked her up.   She gave me the funniest look, and then took her little nose and nuzzled it up onto my neck--as if to say--finally! That was it for me--I had found my dog. I named her Katie. She was absolutely by far the smartest dog I have ever owned. She even earned her CGC. Yes, for years she was my baby. I'm sure there were many times that my children were jealous of her. She went everywhere with me, she slept in our room, and she was mine, all mine. I loved her to pieces.

When Katie was about 10 years old, we moved across the country to Ohio. This was new territory for all of us. I had 2 shelties by then. Here we all were, in a new state, a new city, a new culture, a new house — everything was different. We were trying hard to adjust. Our daughter was busy planning her wedding, our oldest son was just starting college, our youngest was acclimating to his new high school, and my husband was extremely busy with his new job. Everyone had something to do and somewhere to go — my biggest challenge was to make our new house a home and get our entire family settled. It worked for about 3 weeks.  And then, the horror of horrors happened.  Now remember — this is my account of what happened; my family might have another rendition. However, I believe mine is accurate.

I had let the dogs out into our little backyard one morning, and when I went to let them back inside, only one dog came back in — the other, Katie, was missing. The word panic doesn't even begin to describe the emotion that rolled through my brain. I began calling her name over and over. No Katie. I roused the kids (my husband was hundreds of miles away on a business trip) and we began an all-out search for this little dog of ours. Up and down blocks and blocks, street by street, calling her name, looking through back yards, and knocking on doors. Have you seen our dog?   I could envision her being hit by a car, looking for her new home, not knowing where she was. The term gut-wrenching comes to mind. We looked for 3 days. We called every animal shelter, ran an ad on the local radio station, put fliers on every tree, gave our local country club fliers to put in their customers' lockers (their idea), and looked until our legs gave out. I cried and mourned and wept as though I had lost a child. My husband even cut his trip short and came home early to help in the search. I was completely undone. I wanted my dog back. I prayed, I cried, I pleaded. My Katie was nowhere to be found.

When my husband got home, he resumed the animal shelter speed dial process all over again. And then one day--a hit. They thought they might have her. The shelter was 10 miles from our home. We drove there as quickly as possible. I stayed in the car--too anxious to go inside, only to be disappointed if it wasn't her. I sat in my car praying--for her safe return, for her little emotions--her wondering where we were. I could just imagine her wondering why we hadn't come to get her. So many thoughts and emotions passed through me as I sat there waiting impatiently for him to come back to the car. Would he find her?  

And there, carried in her daddy's arms, was our little Katie. Dirty, but OK. He dropped her into my lap, I hugged her so tightly, and I cried so hard that even my husband began crying. There we sat, in the parking lot of an animal shelter, crying our eyes out, arms wrapped around our dog. She was safe, she was OK, and she was going home.

The man working at the shelter told the story of how she had been found on a freeway overpass by a motorist. The man stopped his car, called her over, and put her in his car.  He said he could tell by looking at her that she was a very loved, well-groomed, and obedience-trained dog.  He hated leaving her at a shelter, but felt he had no choice. She did not eat for 3 days; she did not go to the bathroom. She just curled up on her little bed and waited for us to find her. The people at the shelter felt so sorry for her that they took her on special one-on-one walks and even bought her canned dog food to see if they could coax her to eat.  But no, she would have none of it; she just wanted to go home.

After getting her home, bathing her, feeding her, and tucking her in, we went out and bought a huge box of chocolates and a thank-you card for the workers at the animal shelter. They, along with the man on the highway, had saved my dog's life.

Now, an explanation is needed here. Why was I so overly emotional about losing Katie? Why did I cry like I was losing a child? Why was I so distraught?  Well, my self-diagnosis would be this--with moving, not being familiar with my surroundings, not having friends or extended family members, everything being topsy-turvy--it set off an emotional avalanche for me.  I reacted unusually. I am usually the non-panic type. The voice of reason. The thinker, the planner. Not this time, though. I was the fall-aparter. I needed my husband and my kids to hold me together. I'm pretty sure that I even learned something about myself through all that happened during that time. One thing I learned (I probably already knew it) was that no matter what, my family will come to my rescue. Even if they think I am overreacting, they love me. They hated seeing me in such emotional distress.  They canvassed our neighborhood just as much as I did, if not more, looking for my dog. That meant the world to me.

That little episode, that horrible of horribles, brought our little family closer together. At that particular time in our lives, we were all we had. We worked together as a team to bring Katie home. We prayed, we cried, and we rejoiced at her return.

It's funny how things turn out. How animals can and do affect our lives. I've often wondered why God put such a love for dogs and horses in my heart. I'm glad He did, though. And I'm glad that my kids all have dogs--I was a little concerned after my Katie meltdown that I had emotionally (unintentionally) scarred them for life. But no, they are all just doing fine. And as for Katie — well, a few years later, she passed away. We now have another sheltie, just as smart, but oh so crazy. She has Katie's looks, but her very own nutty personality. And, we just love her! Thank God for dogs! And also, for our sweet memories of all the dogs past.

Katie, in California

Exceedingly Abundantly

This is the verse that came to me the other day as I was praying.

Ephesians 3:20

New King James Version (NKJV)

²⁰ Now to Him who can do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,

However, I like this more expanded version a little better--

Ephesians 3:20

The Message (MSG)

 ²⁰God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us. 

I was on my treadmill, listening to my contemporary Christian music on Pandora radio. Praying my heart out, singing to God, and this is what He dropped into my heart. Did I cry? Oh yes, yes, I did. I wondered what He was trying to say to me--you know? Right at that very moment, that very instant in time. After finishing my workout and prayer time, I went back downstairs and took out my laptop. I began to do some research. I prayed and asked God--through this portion of scripture today, what are you saying to me? I knew in my heart of hearts that He was trying to get through to me. I was just hoping to figure it out — soon! It seemed so very puzzling at first.

I decided to break it down, bit by bit — he can do anything. OK, got that. I believe that. Now what?

And then I heard it, deep down in my heart, I heard Him ask me--do you really believe that I can do anything? You see, for years now, I have been praying for something very specific. And it still has not come to pass. It bothers me. Hey, I'm just being honest. As I sat there in my big old brown rocking chair, praying, crying, asking God why He hasn't done that one thing for me--well, something in that verse came to life, right before my eyes. He's working in me, while I wait. Deeply, gently, within me.  

I wondered how I had missed that part before. I always had just read-- He can do anything. I love that part, I believe that part. At least I thought I did.

Didn't I believe that the creator of the universe could do anything? Didn't I believe that with all my heart? The answer to my question was — yes, yes, I think I do believe that God can do anything! But what I hung up on was the other part.  The part that concerned me. The waiting, the working, the deep, gentle part. That's what the holdup was, and I didn't even realize it.  

As I sit here now, as I pray, as I read my Bible, as I cry out to my God--I am now waiting. I have asked Him to do a work in me. And, just as He has been so patient with me, I will be patient with His awesome timing. I will trust Him to gently do the work in my heart and life that needs to be done. It will be deep work; it will take time. It might even be hard.  But isn't work done well, hard to do? I will need to be receptive, pliable, willing, and trusting.  

And most of all, I will need to be patient. And I will need to accept the fact that while He is busy with me — healing, working — He'll also be working on the other thing. The thing I asked for, the thing I prayed for. The one thing that I want more than anything else in this sweet life of mine. One little thing that will mean everything to me.

He will answer my prayer, He will answer it exceedingly abundantly, more than I could ever imagine, beyond my wildest dreams! I guess what I'm trying to say is that I was given hope, with those 2 little words--exceedingly abundantly! I am waiting for that day. And as I wait — I will pray; I will be grateful, thankful, and patient. Maybe you could pray too.